


vanishing grace (innocence)

by cabbage_s



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Character Death, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-10-13 20:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabbage_s/pseuds/cabbage_s
Summary: In the midst of the world's end, Jaemin and Jeno meet Renjun.





	1. Prologue: Bad Dream

**Lee Jeno.**

 

Closets, Jeno realizes, are horrible hiding spots.

 

His legs burn from kneeling too long on the floor, a variety of cardboard boxes prod him from different angles, and the stuffiness of the air brings him no comfort in the small corner of his closet, where he sits surrounded by clothes and unpacked moving boxes. On a normal day the irony would not be lost on Jeno, but his brain is ringing in fear and giving him very little to laugh about.

 

Jeno takes in a shuddering breath, huddling his knees to his chest, and he tries not to think. And he fails, because no matter how hard he presses his hands against his ears, he can’t stop hearing the squelching of skin being pulled, like tape from a packaged box. No matter how hard he squeezes his eyes shut, he can’t stop seeing the red dripping down from his peeling apartment ceiling. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t wake himself up from this bad dream, and the realization of this horrible reality makes him want to throw up and cry at the same time. But he doesn’t throw up or cry, because terror shackles him down to a frozen, shivering mess, the closet door the only thing separating him from a nightmare come true.

 

Wooseok is dead on the floor, but his glassy eyes still stare wide open at Jeno through the slits in the door. And Jeno can't bring himself to look away, no matter how much his mind begs for mercy. It’s horrible for Jeno to even think this, but it’s a relief that he’s finally dead. It’s a relief he doesn’t have to hear the screams of a dying man anymore, the screams of someone who is slowly being torn apart with nothing to do but die. Listening to the screams had been torture in itself, and there are scars etched inches deep underneath Jeno’s skin to show for it. He had felt every howl of agony that left Wooseok’s lips tearing through his soul like the teeth sinking into his skin, and it had left Jeno shaken to the core.

 

He will never be able to forget those screams.

 

The psycho kneeling over Wooseok’s mangled body continues his feast, unaware of Jeno curled up inside the closet. His now red polo is completely soaked, the original blue pigment completely washed out by blood. _Wooseok’s blood._ With every strip of flesh he peels, Wooseok’s body is disturbed, head lolling left and right like an unbalanced pendulum. Jeno wonders how long it will take for him to be found and torn apart just like the boy on the floor, and he shudders, a sour taste rising up in his throat.

 

It hits him then. Wooseok is dead. He is dead, and Jeno will follow. Fear washes over Jeno like boiling hot water, rattling every inch of his body. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to be ripped to shreds like Wooseok. He doesn’t want any of that. He wants to live, god, he _wants to live._

 

Jeno closes his eyes one more time, and he tries his hand at not thinking again. He doesn’t want to think about Wooseok. He doesn’t want to remember what Wooseok was supposed to be, doesn’t want to look at what Wooseok is in the present. He doesn’t want to think about what he will be.

 

But Jeno does think. He sits in his tiny, stuffy bedroom closet, and he thinks. He thinks until there is no skin left to peel and the blood on the ceiling has dried to an ugly brown color. He continues to think and he still never wakes up from this sick, sick dream.


	2. Chapter 1: Pandemonium

_How long has it been since this started? It all seems so far away now._

i. **  
**

**Na Jaemin.**

“Fuck.” It’s the seventh time Jaemin has said that word, and while it’s not the most eloquent, it’s a perfect representation  of the situation at hand.

“My thoughts exactly,” Donghyuck agrees from where he’s looking at the vending machine, peering at the Skittles. He looks relaxed, but if Jaemin hadn’t known him for so long, he wouldn’t have been able to spot the signs of nervousness from the way he is looking at the contents of the vending machine without actually seeing them. In other words, pretending to be distracted by food while listening in on to Jaemin’s break down. Typical.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Jaemin enters in the familiar set of numbers into his phone, tapping his foot against the floor impatiently. He has Jeno’s number memorized by now, the result of not having a personal cell phone for a long time, back when he was a broke college student who could barely even afford the clothes on his back. His hands shake, but the numbers go in perfectly and Jeno’s contact name appears on the screen, adorning two sunshine emojis at the end. But like the previous few attempts, Jeno doesn’t answer, and that incites the eighth swear word out of Jaemin.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit. Why aren’t you picking up?” he mutters to himself, fear bleeding through his words. Jaemin doesn’t even want to consider the implications that the silence on Jeno’s end could stand for. The way Donghyuck doesn’t respond with his usual wittiness means he’s thinking the same exact thing, and that doesn’t bring much comfort either. So he tries again, pacing back and forth between the chairs. “Pick up, Jeno,” he pleads. “Please pick up.” The ringing cuts off, and then,

“ _I’m sorry. The number you are trying to reach is not available-_ ”

Gritting his teeth, Jaemin clenches the phone hard between his fingers and tries to reel in the frustration, resisting the urge to launch the device at the wall and _scream_. Dread envelopes him like a blanket, and he sits on the table in fear of his knees buckling from the stress of it all, gripping tightly on the edge of the table. The muffled screaming outside of the staff room fills in the silence that used to be occupied by dial tones, and Jaemin releases a tense breath of air, trying to keep his calm. Which is very similar to the feeling of trying to cut a piece of bread with another piece of bread. Impossible.

The poorly repressed frustration is a new feeling, even to Jaemin. He’s been told that he’s always been a patient person, hard to anger and thus really scary when genuinely ticked. But in a situation where people are going mad and _murdering_ others in large masses, Jaemin has every excuse to be emotional. His best friend could be _dead_ , and the worst part of it is that Jaemin doesn’t have any way to know.

“He’s not answering,” Jaemin says emptily, as if it weren’t plainly obvious. “God, Donghyuck. Something might have happened, and I… I have no way to tell. Fuck,” he repeats, holding his face in his hands. He feels utterly useless. There’s something nauseating of being scared of something unseen, but having no power whatsoever to do anything about or even confirm it is the worst part.

It’s quiet for a moment, before Donghyuck’s ratty converse shoes squeak against the floor as he makes his way over. When Jaemin looks up, he finds Donghyuck looking so unbothered by the events, and a flash of weak jealousy passes through him. How Donghyuck, someone deathly scared of silverfish, can keep his cool after all that’s happened, Jaemin has no idea. The duality of Lee Donghyuck truly chooses its worse moments to shine.

“Listen, Jaemin,” Donghyuck says slowly, joining him on the table so their knees knock together. He’s speaking in a way similar to how he talks when he’s about to launch into a rant that he believes is wise and enlightening, but Jaemin is so tired, _too_ tired, to stop him so he does what he’s told and listens. Donghyuck takes in a deep breath, and begins,

“Frankly, I have no fucking idea what’s happening right now.” Oh, yeah. That definitely helps, thanks Donghyuck. “Everything’s going wrong and I’m scared because people are dying, so I’m not just going to lie to you and tell you everything’s going to be okay, but… Jeno doesn’t have class today, and we know him and his hermit crab habits, so there’s a chance he slept in and managed to dodge everything that’s going on. _He could still be safe,_ ” Donghyuck says gently but firmly, pulling away Jaemin’s hands and instead holding his cheeks with his own hands. Jaemin doesn’t reply at first, digesting his words in a blank silence. He could. He might. It’s possible. All ambiguous possibilities with no definite answer, at least not one that he likes. It doesn’t bring Jaemin peace, but it brings hope, and hope is what they all need now. It’s the only thing they have. “It wouldn’t be too much of a reach to assume he isn’t answering because he’s asleep, right? He sleeps like he’s dead, think about it. I’m aware thinking is never your forte, but do us both a favor and try it for once.”

Jaemin closes his eyes, pressing his thumb against the bridge of his nose. The familiar bite of Donghyuck’s words is both unappreciated and welcome: grounding him in the most merciless way. He swallows back the doubt despite the fact that uncertainty has risen up feet above his head and is drowning him in unanswered what ifs.

“Right,” he says, feeling coming back to his fingers. “Right. He might be okay.” Jaemin repeats these words to himself like a mantra. Jeno _does_ have an affinity for being a lucky fool who avoids danger like he’s allergic while simultaneously coming VERY close to it, and it’s something that has worn away years of Jaemin’s  life from constant worry and stress.

“I’m not promising anything, but he could be safe. Don’t go all dramatic on me just yet.” Bloody scarfs and cold eyes flash through Jaemin mind, but he pushes them all away and closes his eyes again, basking in Donghyuck’s warmth. Lee Donghyuck, out of all people, calling him dramatic? Jaemin resists the urge to laugh at the poorly timed irony. “Also, no more swearing. I think I’ve heard enough curse words from you to last an entire lifetime? Swearing doesn’t fit you Nana, that’s for me,” Donghyuk says firmly as he squishes his cheeks, and Jaemin laughs, the action soothing a tension that has been gathering on his chest. Donghyuck looks satisfied at the noise, a complacent smirk dancing on his lips. The smug fucker. “Stop stealing my thunder, asshole.”

“Okay, okay,” Jaemin agrees, laughing once again. “I didn’t know swearing was exclusively Lee Donghyuck.” The dread is still there, but not as prominent as before. It’s moments like these that he’s happy he has Donghyuck here at all times, because his snarkiness and chaotic nature somehow seems to bring sense back to Jaemin every time he loses his way in the most inconvenient way possible. Jaemin pulls away from Donghyuck, before throwing in a fond kiss on the cheek just for the heck of it. Donghyuck grimaces and pretends to wipe the kiss off in disgust(Jaemin knows he likes it despite his endless complaints), wiping his hand on Jaemin’s sweater as the male hops off the table with a newfound determination, shaky on its foundation, but still there.

“The only thing you can do right now is worry about your own safety,” Donghyuck continues like he doesn’t believe the conformation, following after Jaemin and moving to the window, where he looks at the outside world through the small slits in the blinds. Whatever he sees makes him close his eyes and release a shaky breath of air. “Those people are still out there, killing for god knows what. We’re still in danger. We get to safety first, and then start worrying about Jeno, okay? I don’t want you to get yourself killed in your desperate search for Jeno, because contrary to popular belief I _do_ like your presence.”

“Okay,” Jaemin agrees, and he hopes that he sounds as believable as possible. Jeno and his crescent smile flash through his mind, and Jaemin clutches his phone tightly, where the tens of unanswered calls line up on the screen. “‘Contrary to popular belief?’ I think everyone knows you love me, Hyuckie. You don’t hide it very well,” he coos, squishing Donghyuck’s cheeks and laughing softly at the way his face morphs into a mix of hatred, pain, and disgust.

The sick feeling lingering in the back of his throat doesn’t leave him, not for one moment, but Jaemin has no choice but to press on, and somewhere down the line he realizes this with a heavy sinking upon his gut.

 

**Na Jaemin, A Few Hours Prior.**

The announcements were one of the first signs that something had been very, very wrong.

Before those, there were the campus security car sirens echoing in the distance, and while those weren’t entirely unheard of, the security cars usually sat collecting the dust due to lack of use. The most alarming thing that occured in the time Jaemin attended uni was a slightly concerning fire from when someone thought it was a good idea to let the engineering majors use the kitchens without supervision, and even then the fire was put out minutes before people were dispatched.

So sirens go off outside some ten minutes into Jaemin’s Psych class, but he’s too busy trying not to pass out from lack of sleep to really consider the when, why, or how. When he first started uni, Jaemin reacted immediately to every single alarm that went off due to overcooked late night snacks or stressed students who believed they could sneak away with smoking in the dorms, overwhelmed by all the unfamiliar things surrounding him. Eventually the alarms went off so many times his body became accustomed to it, however. That and also the fact he wasn’t constantly deprived of sleep at that time in his life, but perhaps that’s besides the point.

The lecture continues on despite the distant noises. Halfway through, the professor’s phone rings and Jaemin slips further into the point of no return, dangling between consciousness and sleep. The professor answers, speaking far too quiet to catch Jaemin’s interest, and the soft hum in the room lures Jaemin back into momentary sleep until he is jolted awake by the girl next to him(Nayeon, from what he can remember from their sparse interactions). Nayeon glares at him through dark lashes, her perfectly done eyeliner making her eyes look ten times colder than they already are, and Jaemin realizes a few seconds too late that he’d been toeing dangerously close into her personal bubble. In his daze he’d slumped over to the left, taking up two thirds of the table they shared.

An apologetic smile presents itself on Jaemin’s face as he quickly straightens up. Nayeon turns around with a dainty scrunch of her nose, probably to continue ignoring Jaemin like she has been doing for the majority of the semester. The most he’s gotten out of her is her name, and Jaemin in all of his socialness has still not been able to break through her hostilite barriers. The one time Nayeon actually acknowledged him, she called him James. Oh, woe is him.

A sharp piercing noise crackles through the air like a whip, causing a collective hiss of surprise and displeasure to resonate from the students. Nayeon swears loudly beside him, and Jaemin would be astonished at the fact if he weren’t busy reeling from the headache inducing ringing in the air. If anyone had missed the campus speaker systems before, they wouldn’t now. Jaemin clutches his head with a grimace, any possibility of going back to sleep lost.

The voice that comes on is dry and akin to listening to nails on a chalkboard, “ _I apologize for the interruption. Students in west wing, please seek shelter in the area immediately. Staff, prepare for evacuation procedures._ ” The shrill ringing ends as the speakers cut off, encouraging a wave of puzzled murmuring from the class at the odd occurrence.

_West wing?_ Jaemin swallows. The Psych classroom is the auditorium hugging the west wing, situated on top of a small ledge that had to be fenced off when a drunk guy accidentally walked off it a few years back. It’s easy to miss because of all the trees, but still there nonetheless.

Jaemin notices his phone buzzing quietly on the corner of the table, screen lighting up with new messages. He groans at the hundred messenger notifications that greet him as soon as he unlocks the phone, all of which are probably from Donghyuck. Unsurprisingly enough, a good chunk are heart memes from the boy, so Jaemin ignores those(he’s saving them for later) and checks the group chat. At the front of the auditorium, the professor trudges across the room and locks the doors.

m&ms: Guys I believe there’s been a break in on campus, please be careful

Him: bless

m&ms: Apprentally people have been hurt, hyuck

Him: well

Him: i hope they come and murder me

m&ms: Why are you...

You: emphasized “i hope they come and murder me”

Him: did i say u could talk

You: I technically didn’t?

Him: DID I SAY U COULD TALK.

You: You didn’t say I couldn’t <3

mochi: wait there’s something happening at ur school too?

m&ms: Yeah, is something happening over there?

mochi: Uhhhh no?

m&ms: ???

mochi: No, I just said that because I felt like it. Yes, there’s something happening

m&ms: Oh

Him: dumbass

mochi: Right now we’re under lockdown. They’ve haven’t told us why though

mochi: I don’t get why they announce it over the speakers, doesn’t that make it obvious for the people who break in?

Him: fresh meat

_m &ms has removed Him from the conversation. _

_m &ms has added Him to the conversation. _

Him: interesting

mochi: emphasized “emphasized “i hope they come and murder me””

m&ms: Seriously, please be safe. Have you seen the videos on the fb group?

Him: Not everyone is on top of their social media game like u buddy

mochi: That’s coming from you?

Him: ok to be fair i had to do something today

m&ms: [link attached]

Him: don’t u like,,, have a job or something???

m&ms: I’m on break

m&ms: Don’t you like have class or something?

Him: listen i’m not obligated to pay attention ok

The video attached is a short one, shaky and hard to make out at some points. It takes some squinting, but Jaemin finally makes out the blurry figure of a person jumping onto another. It’s recorded from what seems to be a floor above, the grimy window between the camera man and the point of curiosity the main cause for the clarity issues. The scene is surrounded by a circle of curious onlookers, many of which are recording the fight on their own phones.

Jaemin scrolls through the rest of the post, scanning the replies that respond to the video, mostly humorous and meme-filled, courtesy of a bunch of college students left to their own devices. Donghyuck and Mark continue bickering in the group chat with a scandalized Mark scolding the former for being lazy with his classes, but Jaemin dismisses the notifications with a flick of his thumb, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“Hey Nayeon,” he whispers softly, showing his seat partner his phone. “Have you seen this video?”

The girl casts a disinterested glance over the screen, fiddling with the chipped nail polish on her fingers. Strangely enough, the paint isn’t actually on her nails but on the skin on the side of her fingers instead, flaking away at even the slightest prod.  “No,” she sniffs. “Don’t care.” _Great._ Jaemin frowns, exasperation bubbling up inside of him.

“Oh. My bad. It’s kinda scary though,” he says. Well, at least no one could say that he didn’t try.  “Be careful, okay?” Nayeon rolls her eyes and returns her attention to the front of the classroom. She draws the grey scarf looped around her neck tighter around her mouth, the woolen ends pooling down onto the table below like a waterfall.

While he wasn’t laughing to begin with, the responses seem to get less humourous and more concerned as Jaemin continues his scrolling and refreshes the page. The amount of people recording videos and updating the event on social media instead of helping is disturbing, but at least it gives Jaemin an inkling on what’s going on. What it doesn’t do is prevent the sense of dread rolling from onto him.

“ _Attention, students._ ” The crackling of the loudspeakers whizzes through the air once again, staticy and bordering indecipherable. Jaemin catches snippets of the messages, distracted by the chaos and frenzy blowing up on his phone as his feed continues to fill with panicked students.

“ _We would like to address reports of individuals causing harm to staff and students. Campus police are currently investigating the outburst, but we advise you to stay calm, avoid initiating contact, and seek shelter immediately._ ”

The speaker pauses to take a breath, and in the silence a distant scream fills in the silence.

“ _Staff and students, please find the nearest available building and turn of the lights, lock the doors, and remain quiet for your safety. Security is dealing with the issue at hand. If you are in the west wing, do not panic. Do not panic, security is on the way. Stay calm, do not initiate contact, and seek the nearest shelter. Teachers, open doors for students outside, students please-_ ”

“What the fuck is happening?” someone whispers from behind him. The lack of an answer causes a delicate tension to rise within the room.

“Maybe it’s a drill?” another person suggests weakly. A sad attempt at providing closure, but good in its intention at the least.

“ _-seek shelter immediately, do not, I repeat do not, evacuate all at once. In order to prevent crowding and blockage of the exits, please-_ ”

Jaemin doesn’t hear the rest of it. Videos and pictures start to show a worrying amount of injured people and the sight of all the blood on his screen makes him sick, so he just turns it off with a sharp inhale. After some thought however, Jaemin turns it back on and pulls up his conversation with Jeno, evidence from yesterday’s late night talk staring back at him; they’d been discussing gifts for Jisung’s upcoming birthday. Jaemin shoots Jeno a text telling him to be careful despite the fact the latter is probably still dead asleep in his flat and won’t read it until two in the evening. The boy could probably sleep with everything around him up in flames if he tried.

The room has broken out into uneasy whispers and Jaemin notices that even those who have spent the entire semester asleep are awake and alert, blinking at their surroundings in bleary confusion. Even Nayeon seems to be vaguely concerned, judging by how she sports a slight crease between her brows as she examines the speaker system on the ceiling. The entire room startles as a loud thudding sound echos from the doors, the two slabs creaking on their hinges from an external force exerted onto the smooth tan surface.

“Open the door!” an unfamiliar voice calls from the other side, muffled. A murmur of discomfort resonates through the room. Behind the buzz of whispers Jaemin finally registers the screaming that seems to be taking place outside, not completely shut out by the thick walls of the auditorium. His phone is left abandoned in favor of turning his attention to the double doors that rattle from the incessant pounding forced upon them. Not that it matters, because now his texts are strangely quiet now, something that is unsettling concerning a certain man by the name Lee Donghyuck has his number.  

“Please, I know someone’s in there!” a girl screams, unconcerned by the silence that responds. “Just open the door! _Please_! Let me in! They said to let us in!” There’s another thud of fists against the doors, but the words are drowned out by the continuous screams on the side, crescending louder and louder as time goes on.

“Who is this?” The professor calls, weary. He’s a short old man with a minute amount of hairs left, and Jaemin doesn’t ever recall seeing him smile once in the entire time he’s had him as a teacher. He swears he sees a couple of his last, drooping hairs on his head turn silver at the howling from outside.

“Why isn’t he opening the door for her?” A boy to Jaemin’s right asks impatiently, mimicking a large portion of the concern in the room.

“It might be one of the people who broke in trying to get in,” his seatmate reasons.

“M- My name is Ahn Sohee,” the girl sobs from the other side, and the thuds are softer, weaker now. “I’m a senior film major. Please let me in, please... I’m hurt and no one is helping me, just please open the door. Please, please, please, _please_.”

“Sohee?” Jaemin just barely catches Nayeon’s whisper from behind him. She shoots up from her seat, the chair clattering loudly behind her and startling everyone around her. “Professor!” all eyes turn to the back, and Jaemin staggers in confusion with all of the sudden attention, before realizing most of the people in class are automatically associating him with Nayeon since they sit next to each other. Not that he minds, but Nayeon probably wouldn’t have something nice to say about it if she had the choice to complain. Everyone watches as the girl with the perpetual scowl and dark eye makeup moves from her seat and descends the steps down to the front with an impressive speed and an unsurprising grace. “Professor Jung, I know her! She’s my friend!”

“Are you sure?” he asks, the scratchiness of his voice making it hard to decipher if he’s actually scared or that’s just the way he always sounds.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Nayeon hisses, as if the question is the dumbest that’s ever been asked. “Please open the door!”

The professor sighs loudly, the years physically falling off of him. He unlocks the doors with obvious reluctance in return with Nayeon’s impatient pressuring and they give way with a deathly groan. Sunlight seeps in and Jaemin’s eyes strain to see the outside, too used to the artificial lights above.

The girl who tumbles into the room is pretty, with her inky black hair pulled back into what was probably supposed to be a deliberately messy ponytail.  Now it’s just plain old messy with stray strands of dark locks stuck up in the air and plastered to her cheeks due to the sweat on her face. Her skin is snowy white and the shocking paleness of it makes the mix of blood and tears splattered all over her features all the more prominent. Whispers and gasps break out in the room as she staggers, wheezing loudly.

“Sohee,” Nayeon inhales, catching the girl in her arms. Said person whimpers in relief at the sight of the other, grabbing onto her with a desperation that gives her the illusion of a wild animal. “What happened? C’mon, sit down.” Everyone watches in shocked silence, even Professor Jung, who moves out of the way in disbelief as Nayeon guides the injured girl to the floor. The double doors slam shut, encasing them back in artificial light. “Professor, do you have any medical supplies here?”

The man snaps out of his daze at the second call of his name, blinking. His face is pale. “What? No… no, no medical supplies.” Nayeon swears under her breath. The way she takes in the situation in with a stride and keeps her calm is very impressive, though Jaemin doesn’t have much time to admire it.  “I’ll call security,” he offers, and Nayeon nods in appreciation before turning her attention back to Sohee.

“A boy attacked me,” Sohee sobs, her hands shaking. She’s clutching her neck, where blood gushes out between her fingers. Jaemin stares, sick. “I don’t know who he was, I’d never seen him, but he pushed me down and- and-”

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Nayeon mutters darkly. She looks up, making eye contact with Jaemin, and his blood runs cold. Wait, him? What? What did he do?  “Hey!” she shrieks, sending a glare up Jaemin’s way. He jolts from the sheer loudness of her voice ricocheting through the auditorium, eyes wide. Jaemin wonders with a certain sense of doom rolling into his soul if the girl will ever look at him with anything other then pure contempt. _Please don’t murder me,_ he prays. _I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry._ “Get my bag!” He breathes out in relief. Okay. So no murdering, then. “Hurry the hell up!”

“Shit. Coming!” Jaemin doesn’t have time to complain about the poor timing of her unsubtle declaration of manslaughter and combined inconvenient eye contact, grabbing the abandoned book bag from its sling around the back of her seat. The excess of keychains looped around the zippers clank loudly as he jogs after her. Sohee is still mumbling things at a rapid speed, breathless and hard to decipher.  

“I was so, so, so scared, Nayeon. And then he just started b- biting me and it hurt so much that I was screaming and screaming and screaming, but no one helped, they all ran past me,” Sohee gasps, clenching her eyes shut. “It hurts so much, Nayeon. Will I die?” her voice is a tiny, shaky whisper. “I don’t want to die.”

“Shh… Don’t talk, Sohee. I’m here now. I’m not going to let you die,” Nayeon reassures her as Jaemin approaches, putting out a hand without looking up. “There’s a pink bag in the front pocket with tissues and handkerchiefs. We can use those to help with the bleeding.” The grey scarf that had been wrapped around Nayeon’s neck is now pressed up against the wound against Sohee’s throat, blood sleeping through at a startling pace.

The audience starts to become restless and Jaemin suddenly becomes hyper-aware of the growing amount of noise in the auditorium. Not that he expects everyone to be a bunch of disciplined and attentive goody two shoes or anything, but damn, a little quiet will be nice.

“Does she know what’s going on outside?” A pair of kids in the very back call out. The question garners the attention of most of the auditorium, who all look expectantly at the girl on the floor. Understandable, considering how they'd been left in the dark about what is happening outside and why for the past half hour or so. Sohee is the only link to the outside events, though it’s hard for Jaemin to tell if she is any shape to be informing them about the issues at hand with the way she seems to flicker in and out of consciousness like a dying light bulb.

Nayeon looks up with a scowl, the gentleness from earlier shattered. Clearly, she thinks the same. “Does she _look_ like she’s in any position to talk right now?” she snarls, voice cold. They look at each other, but don’t ask again, though it’s obvious the interference leaves them unsatisfied.

“Will she be okay?” Jaemin whispers, keeping his voice soft as he crouches next to the two. Sohee flinches in his presence for a reason he can’t pinpoint, hissing bloody murder. He hands Nayeon the handkerchiefs. “There’s so much blood.”

“I don’t know, and I _know_ . Thanks for your input though, Na Jaemin.” Nayeon glares at him. Jaemin bites his lip. He isn’t really used to dealing with people who are bleeding out onto the floor right in front of his eyes, because he _is_ only a mere college kid trying to get through life. Not that the fact makes him feel any less shit at how useless he’s being. “Sohee, don’t stop putting the pressure, okay? We have to stop the bleeding.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Sohee moans, but her eyelids are fluttering, the material slipping between her fingers. Nayeon takes it from her hands and does it for her. Her voice is quiet now, as if all the strength has been sapped from her bones, but Jaemin takes one look at the blood soaked scarf against her oozing skin and thinks he has a fair idea on as to why.

“Security isn’t picking up.” Professor Jung re-emerges from his phone-call, concern dancing over his wilting features. “I there anything I can do?” Nayeon squeezes her eyes shut with a shaky exhale of air.

“We should take her to the infirmary,” Jaemin says, grim, when no one says anything else. “I can carry her.”

“Too far,” Nayeon breathes, trembling. There’s so much blood on her hands. “I don’t think we can make it.”

“Well, try,” Jaemin urges. “There's nothing here to help her, what are you gonna do? Let her bleed to death?” It’s the harsh truth, but Jaemin doesn’t know how to sugarcoat things without wasting the precious time Sohee might have left. Nayeon clenches her teeth and glares up at Jaemin. This time he isn’t scared to return it so he holds his gaze steady and stares firmly back. Silence.

“Don’t… don’t go outside,” Sohee gurgles quietly, but both of them are too busy glaring at each other to notice.

“She’s been,” Nayeon whispers, and the silence that answers the revelation is deafening. She drops her gaze to the floor, head hanging. The death sentence roped around Sohee’s neck is blaring obvious the longer they stay in here, Jaemin is well aware of this fact. And he knows Nayeon is too.

“...Fuck.” Nayeon closes her eyes and turns back to Sohee, who has completely quieted down. Without her sobbing, a heavy silence settles over the room. “Sohee, can you hear me?” she keeps her voice cheery, though it comes out tight and strained. “We’re gonna take you to the infirmary, alright? You’re gonna be okay, can you last that long?”

No response. The scarf and handkerchiefs lay crumpled and seeping wet on the floor in bundles. Blood drips down to the floor like a leaky faucet, echoing in the noisy silence of the room.

“Sohee? Sohee,” Nayeon’s voice rises, her trembling hands rocking the girl on the floor from side to side. “Sohee, _come on_ . Get _up_ please.”

Sohee doesn’t hear the noise; she can’t. She doesn’t move. The girl on the floor is deathly still, unresponsive. Jaemin prepares himself for the worst despite having no reason to. The worst has happened already.

Tears well up in Nayeon’s eyes. “Sohee… oh god. Oh god, oh god,” Nayeon sobs, draping herself over Sohee as if to shield her body from the onlookers watching the scene in horror. “No. No. _No_.” Sohee doesn’t even twitch.. “No, no, no, no, oh god no.”

Nayeon looks up at the people watching with terrified expressions, her features contorted into anger and despair. “Fucking _do_ something, people!” she screams and they flinch, looking away. “Don’t just sit there!” her voice crumbles. She ducks her head down against Sohee, her sobs shaking her entire body.

A kind of unspoken panic seizes control of the room, the shaky stability completely crushed the longer Sohee remains unresponsive. Someone else starts crying and few other people start shouting hysterically. It’s mostly just terrified voices overlapping over one another, and as people try to make themselves audible over others, it soon becomes obvious that it’s impossible to zone in on any one conversation. Chairs clatter to the floor as people scramble to get up, and the room becomes enveloped in utter chaos. Professor Jung moves to make order with very little success.

In his twenty years of his life, Jaemin has never once seen a dead person. The sight of Sohee’s pasty white, bloodied body lain peacefully across the floor as if she’s floating makes him sick, no surprise there, but for some reason, he can’t stop _staring_. Jaemin forces his eyes shut, shuddering as images of mannequin-esque limbs greet him even beyond reality. Bile rises in the back of his throat, but he swallows it all back.

All of the handkerchiefs Jaemin had brought lay on the floor, too late to be put to use. Jaemin picks up a piece of cloth that is laid open on the floor beside his foot like a book, his body numb. It’s a blue and white handkerchief with a cheery penguin sewn in the corner. It’s cute, but he can’t bring himself to smile at it. There’s blood on it, but even as he moves to wipe it, it smears further into the white silk. As he struggles with the laws of blood and staining, Jaemin notices movement. He freezes.

Sohee’s thumb twitches. Once, as if jostled by Nayeon’s sobbing. Then another time, and it’s too real to be Jaemin’s imagination. Not long after, by some sick miracle her eyes _open_. The left eye opens first and then the right, with some minor difficulty because of the blood caking her eyelids shut.

And then Sohee stares up into the dome ceiling of the auditorium, unblinking.

It’s weird, because Jaemin should be happy that the girl is moving, he should be relieved that she is _alive_ , but he looks into Sohee’s eyes, clouded and bulging, and an indescribable cold washes over him.

“Nayeon,” he breathes. She doesn’t look up, her body trembling as she cries into Sohee’s shoulder. “Nayeon, look. It’s Sohee.”

“Fuck off,” she wails, her voice muffled. Sohee’s eyelashes flicker, her eyes lolling back to the back of her head. She groans lowly, her head tilting back and forth on her spine. The cracking of her bones startles Nayeon, who pulls back to look at her. She sobs once she notices the other moving on her own accord, clutching tighter around her torso. “Sohee?” she stutters, her face red and puffy with tears, so much so that her perfectly done makeup has been smeared across her face. “Oh my god. Oh my _god_ , you’re okay. Thank fucking god, I was so worried- we need to get you to the infirmary, quick-“

Nayeon hugs Sohee, breathing into her neck in spite of all of the blood. She jumps a little and withdraws a bit as if conscious of Sohee’s wound, but she doesn’t let go. Nobody else notices them except for Jaemin.

Sohee blinks once. She blinks another time. Her eyes roll back up like balls rotating on their axises, the action so akin to that of a doll’s eyes it sends shivers rolling all throughout Jaemin’s skin. They come to a slow stop on the bare, bloody skin of Nayeon’s shoulder, revealed by the drooping of her loose shirt. A low, guttural groan crawls up to the surface from Sohee’s chapped lips, the animalistic noise lost in the loudness of the room.

Her clouded eyes focus onto the girl clinging onto her and something enters them, something so strange that it freezes Jaemin to his core. Something rolls into Sohee’s unseeing irises like a dark cloud upon another, and it _terrifies_ him.

“Nayeon-”

And then Sohee bites.

 

**Na Jaemin, Present.**

Jaemin has only been truly scared once in his life before.

One time, his family to the beach for a trip. No one was watching when five-year-old Jaemin walked out towards the unending blue, entranced by the waves that danced earnestly along the golden banks of the shore. He ended up going out too far in the ocean and was dragged under, discovering a dark coldness that mercilessly twisted the warmth from him as it tossed him to and fro.

Drowning is silent. No one noticed that Jaemin was barely able to keep his head above the water. He barely had enough energy to kick up and keep himself afloat before water would wash over him and send him drifting back down into darkness. He was like a life buoy that was cut; he would rise up only to be pushed ten feet under no matter how hard he fought.  

No one realized he was drowning, deaf to his silent pleas, and perhaps that was the worst part.  When they pulled him out of the water his heart had stopped beating and the shock of being so close to death stuck with him for days on end even after he was resuscitated. Afterwards, he’d been gifted with a dangerous sort of courage that had made him the victim of many physical bruises as well as multiple scoldings from his parents, though the cost was a serious trauma towards large bodies of water, no matter how harmless they seemed.

Leaving the safety of the room reminds Jaemin of what fear is. The terror had never truly left even after they hid like a distant ringing in the back of the mind, but being back out in the open is like having an air horn roaring a sustained note into his ear, numbing his nerves and joints. It’s hard to remember how to breathe and walk at the same time. His mind is blank and yet his body still moves as if some kind of unknown phantom possesses his limbs.

The original plan was to wait for help to come in the safety of the staff lounge, but an hour had passed since then. And then another. And then another. There was a lot of intense debates with Donghyuck on what to do, but eventually they decided sitting around was useless, especially when calling for help through the staff phone quickly proved to be fruitless and their own phones became very close to dying from low battery. Jaemin had been somewhat reluctant on leaving, but a rock-paper-scissors match was the deciding factor between staying and whatever was going to happen to them outside. Well, that and Jeno, but Donghyuck doesn’t need to know that.

Jaemin’s only relief is knowing that he’s not the only one who’s scared shitless. Donghyuck walks in front of him, dead silent, something that hasn’t happened in the past six years he’s known the other. He lags behind to take Jaemin’s hand, their palms clammy against each other. Jaemin squeezes Donghyuck’s hand tightly.

“Where to?” Jaemin asks, wincing when his voice breaks the hushed silence draped over the hallway.

Finding each other in the chaos that was crowds of hysterical students was a miracle in itself, but they had done it. After locating each other they ran into the nearest building and taken shelter in the staff lounge to gather their bearings and avoid the panicked stampedes of people. It’s been many hours since, so the majority of their section of the building has been emptied out by now. Hopefully.

The only downside is the dim, eerie glow now cast over the hallways from the evening sun, making the halls appear more unnerving than usual. Jaemin has never been a fan of the evening, always made chipper from the brightness of the early morning sun, so the sight of the darkening sky outside sucks all of the happiness from him. Normally, darkness makes him sleepy, but the adrenaline running through him makes any thought of sleep impossible at this point. Jaemin’s not sure if he’ll be able to sleep ever again after all of this.

“I wish I knew,” Donghyuck huffs, glancing in front of them and behind them repeatedly. The motion freaks Jaemin out so he mimics the action, casting a wide glance behind him. Nothing. Jaemin would never have thought a dark, empty hallway would be able put him at ease(it doesn’t). “Do you think people evacuated successfully?”

“Should I be optimistic or honest?”

Donghyuck smiles wryly. “Let’s avoid the exits.”  He pulls Jaemin towards the nearest staircase, peering down the descent anxiously before gingerly going down one step at at time. They’re on the second floor, so all they need to do is go down one flight before they can leave the building.  When they reach the end of the staircase, they discover that the doors at the end are closed off by a splintered broomstick, the wooden part wedged tightly through the handles.

“What the-”

Something jumps out from the flight leading to the basement before Donghyuck can finish his thought. Jaemin almost screams as he’s grabbed, arms thrashing in their air frantically. Almost, because a hand cups his mouth closed and prevents him from vocalizing his terror, fingers digging mercilessly into his skin. He’s ripped away from Donghyuck, who looks behind at him with a pale sheen to his face, reaching out for his hand. Jaemin struggles frantically, muffled grunts escaping from where a hand obstructs his mouth.

“ _Don’t_ . Be quiet,” A voice hisses into his ear, low and warning. _Christ,_ Jaemin thinks. He’s going to fucking die, isn’t he? The command doesn’t mitigate him at all, especially with the thoughts it provokes, and he struggles even harder, looking pleadingly at Donghyuck as he’s dragged further down the stairs. He follows the first instinct that crosses his mind and bites down on his attacker’s hand, feeling queasy at the irony taste that greets him. “Ow!”

The hand restraining him immediately releases him and Jaemin practically trips back up the stairs to get away. Donghyuck catches him, gripping his arm tightly as he coughs, breathing heavily through a mouthful of blood. Man, he _knew_ this was a terrible idea.

“Jaemin, are you okay?” Donghyuck whispers, glaring down at the stranger, scowling when said individual makes a noise of disapproval. Jaemin nods despite the fact he’s definitely _not okay_ , the shock having not worn off quite yet, and sends a weary glance at the stranger. A boy glares at him from one flight down, eyes glittering at him in the darkness with a concoction of different expressions, mostly negative. Or maybe it’s a girl with short hair, Jaemin can’t tell. “What the hell, man?”

“Shut _up_ ,” the stranger hisses. Jaemin can’t make out a face yet, but he definitely recognizes it to be a boy through his voice. It’s not super deep like Bang Youngguk from Jeno’s hall deep, but still not delicate enough to be feminine. Well, not that there couldn’t be girls with deep voices and boys with feminine voices, but... “I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt you, just _please_ don’t talk here. Just... Follow me.” He descends further into the darkness, opening up a supply closet at the foot of the stairs that opens with a rusted squeak.

Donghyuck and Jaemin share a look. “Seem fishy?” Jaemin asks warily, wiping his mouth and groaning upon realizing in doing so he’d gotten more blood on his white Supreme hoodie. He’s never been one for violence despite doing plenty of dumb things in his life, but there’s always a time for firsts.

“Oh yeah,” Donghyuck agrees, before following the boy without a second thought.

Once they’re all inside the supply closet, the boy closes the door and flicks on the light. The closet is definitely too small for three young adults to be crammed into, but Jaemin makes do and squeezes himself in between a dusty shelf and a bucket of questionable substance. He glares at Donghyuck before the other can make another one of his stupid closet jokes, knowing his friend’s bad timing when it comes to shitty comedy, but he seems to be too preoccupied with glaring at the third member of their impromptu party to even consider the possibility.

The unfamiliar boy paces back and forth in the small space he has to himself, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest(yikes that looks bad, what kind of asshole would do that?). He reminds Jaemin of a train with his movements and the way he fumes angrily with figurative steam coming out of his ears. The boy turns and faces the two of them with a scowl. “You- You-” he starts by pointing an accusing finger at Jaemin, seemingly unable to form a coherent sentence due to anger. The finger moves to Donghyuck, then back to Jaemin, and to Donghyuck again.

Donghyuck beats him to it. “The fuck is wrong with _you_?” he bristles, lip jutting out angrily. The look the boy gives him is a mix between annoyed and disbelieving, and Jaemin feels a bit lightheaded at the amount of combined heat radiating off of the two of them. He feels like a dumpling that’s being steamed.

“Me?” the boy scoffs, brows furrowed. The scene might look a bit more concerning if it weren’t contained to thin whispers, but it’s still intense nonetheless, Jaemin thinks. “Can you two go tramping around screaming your heads off any louder than you’ve been? And I hope you got your friend checked for diseases before he bit me like an animal!”

“You were the one who jumped out and grabbed Jaemin like a goddamn freak! What was he supposed to do? Start square dancing with you?”

“C’mon, let’s be nice about this,” Jaemin says weakly, but his words get lost somewhere between brooms and detergent.

“What are you- oh myyy goddd,” the boy moans, throwing his head back. “I’m going to-” he stops himself, frowning as he massages the bridge of his nose in an action of self restraint. He sends Jaemin a particularly poisonous glare, and wow does Jaemin have an affinity for collecting people who hate his guts, huh?

Jaemin tugs Donghyuck back before either of the two can attempt murder, spinning him around to face him from where he’s squished into a rectangular shape. A toolbox digs painfully into his hip. “Hyuck, it’s okay. It was my bad, he was trying to help. I think.” The irritation in Donghyuck’s eyes doesn’t completely dissipate at Jaemin’s assurance, but his face does soften.

“Jesus, Jaem. You stupid _mop_ ,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to Jaemin’s shoulder. “I thought you were… I thought… fuck.”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but Jaemin knows. He _knows._ The look on Donghyuck’s face when they were pulled apart is still crystal clear on his mind, like rewinding back to that one day when he was five, waking up to white halls and his mother standing over him with a look of panic painted across her face. The fear Jaemin had felt himself when he had been grabbed… it felt like he was drowning all over again.

Jaemin doesn’t say anything, but he hugs Donghyuck tightly and hopes the action says enough for the two of them both. When they pull apart from each other Jaemin remembers the presence of the unnamed boy, who watches their exchange with an expression that looks like he’s swallowed a particularly sour lemon.

“Look, I’m sorry…..?” Jaemin looks at the boy apologetically, feeling guilty about biting his hand, and for a moment he’s sure the other is about the flip him off. But then he breathes out with a defeated sigh and stiffly says,

“Renjun.”

“...Renjun,” Jaemin repeats and looks at him for confirmation, only to receive a blank expression in return. “I’m Jaemin and this is Donghyuck,” Renjun looks as if he gives negative zero fucks, “we’re just trying to get out here, we didn’t mean any harm. Sorry for, uh. Scaring you?”

Renjun shakes his head, and the irritation melts into something more grim. He relaxes in a way that lessens his hostile posture but keeps the tenseness to his shoulders, looking down at the door of the supply closet where the word ‘JANITOR’ is imprinted on the glass with peeling stickers. In rainbow, too. What a nice touch.

Now that Jaemin doesn’t have to worry about Renjun being angry at him and stabbing his eyes out from frustration, he finally gets a good look at the boy. Brown hair falls over Renjun’s eyes like a curtain, shadowing a pair of dark coffee bean-colored eyes. He’s wearing the kind of clothes that you might find on a tumblr coffee shop aesthetic, though the blooding dripping down from his hands definitely ruins the whole picture. It’s strange because Renjun is definitely smaller than him and looks like he might snap in half with the gentlest push, but Jaemin gets the inkling that Renjun will be the one snapping him in half if that ever happens.

“The entire first floor is done for,” he whispers, and Jaemin’s gut sinks. “All the staircases are fucked, but this staircase was the least crowded so I blocked it off. I wanted time so I could figure out how to get out without getting noticed, but then you guys came and… shit, I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to blow it, so I didn’t really think about what I was doing.”

Jaemin shakes his head, holding Donghyuck’s arm tightly. “We get it. Did you have a plan? About getting out?”

“So far, my plan is to sit here and cry,” Renjun laughs, his eyes dark. When neither of them laugh he clears his throat awkwardly and adds, “I don’t have the slightest clue on what to do, honestly. Sorry.” His voice is strained. Jaemin doesn’t have it in him to feel angry towards the other, not with the way Renjun’s anger peels away to reveal sometime more frustrated and fragile underneath.

“What were you going to do if you got down there safely?” Donghyuck asks, sounding much more calmer now compared to earlier. His eyes are still cautious, and the way Renjun looks at him signifies the feeling is mutual, but Jaemin is just thankful they aren’t burning holes through each other anymore.  

A sigh, “Dunno. When I was looking for ways out I noticed that there were some people gathering up at the library from across here. It seemed like they were pretty successful in making it safe there, so you could head over there if you wanted to.”

At this piece of news Jaemin glances at Donghyuck with a hesitant relief coursing through his veins, only to find the male already looking at him. They’re thinking the same thing. The library is a common point of interest; Mark’s part time job is there, which means he should, fingers crossed, be there too. Not that it’s certain, considering Mark is just as bad as Jeno with replying to texts and hasn’t messaged them once since everything turned to shit.

Renjun continues, “The door at the end of that hallway leads to the dumpsters. I was thinking they’d be fenced off and a little safer than other places, but you’d have to jump the fence. Not that I think the school cares at this point. The thing is, I wouldn’t know how to… get… there. Actually…” Renjun swallows, turning back around to observe them up with an unreadable expression. His eyebrows crease together in silent thought. “I take that back.”

“What?” Donghyuck demands, urging him to speak. When he does, his voice is spoken in slow, languid way.

“I do have an idea.”

 

 **Na Jaemin**.

The plan is something like this.

In the hallway down from the direction Jaemin and Donghyuck came from is another staircase with locked doors. Assuming it’s safe, someone can sneak over and slide their phone under the gap, allowing for another person to call the phone as a distraction. The noise will draw anyone lingering about in the nearby hallways, clearing up a path to the doors. And once the coast is clear, they’ll “fucking _book_ it to the doors.”

After Renjun explains the plan to them, twice due to Donghyuck being a dumbass, they ready themselves and leave the closet. In all honesty, Jaemin has to give Renjun credit; it _is_ a pretty good plan. He’s not positive that it’s the most efficient nor the safest, but he doesn’t have any better ideas so he goes along without any objection. Renjun seems to know what he’s doing better than Donghyuck and Jaemin do combined, and even if Jaemin did try to speak against the idea he has a feeling he might get shanked.

“I can go to the other staircase since it’s my idea,” Renjun offers, leading them up the stairs. “I’d appreciate it if you guys didn’t take off without me.” It’s strangely thoughtful considering how dangerous it might be and what just happened between them, but Jaemin doesn’t voice the mix of worry and suspicion that builds up inside of him. He doesn’t know Renjun, but at the same time he doesn’t want him to get killed either.

“We won’t,” Jaemin promises, and Renjun offers a curt nod before going up the stairway and disappearing around the corner with an impressive stealthiness. “Be careful!” he adds, but Renjun’s woolen sweater is out of sight before he can even finishing saying the word.

Donghyuck and Jaemin sit halfway down the steps in silence as they wait for Renjun’s return, shoulders bumping. Every few seconds or so Jaemin sends a cautious glance up the doorway, anxious about the possibility of finding someone other than Renjun standing at the top and looking down at them. The thought is freaky and straight out of a horror movie Jaemin has watched before, but not entirely impossible considering whatever the hell is happening to them is also straight out of a horror movie. A minute passes and Jaemin wonders if Renjun is going to come back or just leave them for dead. It won’t be surprising if he does the latter, but Jaemin will like to spare the boy the benefit of the doubt.

When Jaemin steals a peek at Donghyuck, he finds his friend resting his hands between his legs, chin ducked against his chest. The posture is so un-Donghyuck-like that Jaemin wants to hug him silly, but he stops himself. He’s seen many emotions on him before: anger, sadness, heartbreak, and many others, but the helplessness he sees flashing in and out of Donghyuck’s eyes is new. It’s new in the most worrying way possible. The most frustrating part is knowing that Jaemin can’t do a single thing about it, but he can only help that they’ll both get through this.

Donghyuck must be able to hear the cogs in Jaemin’s head turning from where he’s sitting, because he speaks up without lifting his head. “Remember the days when we always snuck out at night to break into our middle school?” he asks quietly, his voice a ghostly presence in the air.

Jaemin does indeed remember their junior year in high school when they all thought it was cool to smoke weed in their old middle school after six o’clock, so he nods in question. The only reason they had gotten caught was because one of their friends got his expensive underwear stuck when he was trying to jump the fence. They eventually called for help after spending twenty minutes trying to unsuccessfully get him down without ruining his underwear, but the blow to Yukhei’s pride was irreversible(the sight was nice though, Jaemin isn’t going to lie). Yukhei had cried about his boxer briefs all the way until the police arrived, who only looked unimpressed at the sight of an eighteen-year-old dangling upside down from the top of fencing by the hem of his thousand-dollar underwear.

“More than I should. We were young and stupid.”

“You know, we were only stupid when we let Wong Yukhei and his clumsy ass come with us,” Donghyuck points out with a scoff. He raises his head and gives Jaemin a slanted smirk that he gratefully soaks in. “I hope you haven’t lost your touch on jumping fences. You’re gonna need it when we get out there.”

“I didn’t wear dumb expensive boxer briefs today,” Jaemin reassures him with a small smile, and Donghyuck sputters out a laugh through his nostrils. A comfortable silence falls over them, allowing for Jaemin’s mind to wander despite knowing better than to let it have its way.

Junior year seems so long ago. It’s only been three years since, but days of wreaking havoc in their old childhood town and pretending like they are worth more than just a couple of boys from a nameless town is so far away now that he thinks about it. They’re all stuck between the halfway point of growing up and grown up, and even now it’s still a difficult change for Jaemin to get used to. Being an adult is rough.

At least they stayed together and were able to experience the struggles of getting thrown out into the hell that was real life together. The three of them(Jaemin, Donghyuck, and Jeno) had chosen to stick with each other by going to the same university, an impulsive one minute decision that Jaemin isn’t sure if he regrets or not.

On the bright side, that means he’ll be able to keep Jeno close for the next four years(if they can get past whatever the fuck is happening right now). The others too, but things with Jeno have always felt... different. Maybe it’s because they’ve been best friends for as long Jaemin can remember, but he really doesn’t know nor does he care. He never liked letting his mind think too much into about his relationship with Jeno; often times things got so complicated he only succeeded on making his head hurt. They’re best friends, and that’s it.

Jaemin’s smile immediately slides off of his face the more he thinks about Jeno. Stupid Jeno and his crescent eyes, crescent smile, crescent everything. Jeno and his undying love for cats that exceeds the love he has for himself, just… _Jeno_ . Fuck. Where is he? _How_ is he? Is he alright? A wave of anxiety washes over Jaemin once more again, drowning him in the silent agony that has become his home. Jaemin will never be at peace until he hears his voice one last time.

When Jaemin takes out his phone to check his messages, he prepares himself for the disappointment this time. Sure enough, his last message to Jeno from still remains unread. For a moment Jaemin just sits there, staring at the dimness of his phone screen and thinking empty thoughts. Jaemin swallows, gathering up the courage to say something, which takes longer than he will like to admit.  “Look, Donghyuck…” there must be something in his voice because Donghyuck’s head snaps up the moment he speaks, eyes narrowed.

“What? Spit it out.” Jaemin hesitates, only continuing on when Donghyuck gives him a particularly hard shove with his shoulder.

“Well… Mark should be at the library, right?” A nod. “We should meet up with him, right?” Another nod. Donghyuck raises a brow as if he’s not sure what Jaemin’s getting at and it’s entirely Jaemin’s fault. “But...” Another shove of the shoulder that sends him leaning to the side like a bowling pin about to be tipped. “...I don’t think I’m gonna go. Not yet at least.”

“Huh?” If someone could talk in bold italics, that would be Donghyuck at this very moment. Jaemin can just imagine a literal question mark drawn over his head in aggressive red. “What do you mean you’re just gonna ’not go?’ Na Jaemin, what are you on!” At the other’s shushing, Donghyuck drops his voice back down to an angry whisper. “You wanna ditch Mark? Damn, I didn’t think you hated him _that_ much.” Donghyuck laughs bitterly.

Jaemin shakes his head wildly. “You know that’s not it, Hyuck.”

“Then _what_.”

“I… I want to do something first. Alone.”

There’s a moment of silence as Donghyuck takes the sentence in. Jaemin leans away, feeling the internal rage building up within the other and prepares himself for an explosion.

A deep breath, before “Are you suggesting we _split_ up? Are you insane? Did you hear _anything_ I said earlier?”

Jaemin doesn’t reply  at first, but in the time it takes for him to gather up the balls to explain himself, Donghyuck signs in exasperation and rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. He leans back against the stairs, resting the back of his head against the dusty tiles. Jaemin wonders how much of the stress of what’s happening to them has gotten to him, because the Donghyuck he knows would have thrown a fit about getting his hair dirty from the floor. Then again, the loudmouth Donghyuck he knows has never spoken as quietly as he is talking now.

“Listen, I-”

He doesn’t need to say it, because Donghyuck says it for him.“You’re gonna find Jeno,” he deadpans, his voice unreadable.

Jaemin rushes to explain himself. “I don’t want to get separated, but you should get to safety and find Mark at the same time. I can’t, but you can. Right now, I can’t just… _not_ think about Jeno. I’m worried about him — he still hasn’t replied to my texts and… God, I just can’t stop… _thinking_ . My stupid brain never quits with the fucking _thinking._ I just _need_ to go find him. You told me he’s probably still a- alive, and… if so, I need to be sure of it myself.”

When he’s finished, Jaemin is breathless. He didn’t realize he’d been ranting and the reminder that he needs air kicks him in the gut as he struggles to catch his breath. Donghyuck is still quiet, his hand pressed against his face.

Finally, he speaks, but when he does Jaemin wishes he hadn’t. “...No. It’s still stupid,” Donghyuck declares firmly, pulling himself up from his position on the floor. Jaemin breathes in sharply to object, anger quickly rising up inside of him at the resistance, but Donghyuck rapidly shakes his head. “No. Let me talk.”

He glares pointedly at Jaemin, and the only thing that makes Jaemin shut his mouth and willingly submit to the demand is the wetness in Donghyuck’s eyes that becomes more prominent the longer they talk. The soft part of Jaemin screams at him for making Donghyuck cry, but the stubborn part of him refuses to let himself just apologize and solve everything with friendly bro-hugs. Donghyuck was the last person he would have thought he’d be getting this bullshit from, after all. There’s a fresh betrayal bubbling up that Jaemin can’t just ignore.

“I know, Jaemin. I _know_.”

“Do you?” Jaemin asks coldly. Donghyuck closes his eyes and when he talks his voice is even colder.

“Oh trust me, I fucking _know._ I’m worried about Jeno too, okay? About Mark, Jisung, my parents, about you. I’m worried about everyone. But you have to think about what’s happening right here, right now. It’s better to stay together, okay? I don’t-”

The squeaking of sneakers shuts him up, and they both look up in a panic, scrambling to their feet. Renjun walks down the stairs towards them, lips pursed as he watches them with an arched brow. What the hell happened to stealthy ninja Renjun from a few minutes ago? Jaemin tries to exchange a glance with Donghyuck, but then remembers he’s supposed to be in an argument with him and looks away. In doing so he meets Renjun’s curious stare, as if he just knows something went down in the short time he was away. He doesn’t ask, much to Jaemin’s relief, and instead glides over to the doors.

“Alright, let’s go. When we get out I’ll take you out to the library and that’ll be it.” Renjun pulls the broom free from its bounds, reciting a set of numbers to Jaemin under his breath for him to call. By some miracle he manages to get the digits into his phone on his first try even with the intense concentration of irritation torturing him due to Donghyuck and his refusal to understand. Must be the experience.

“I know you’re mad at me, but we’re not done, Na,” Donghyuck mutters under his breath from behind him, low enough so only Jaemin can catch it, but Jaemin makes no indication that he’s heard. Some childish part of him doesn’t want to give Donghyuck the satisfaction. Satisfaction of what, Jaemin doesn’t know, but all he knows is he just doesn’t want to give it.

The actual plan itself goes smoothly. Jaemin calls Renjun’s phone and they listen as a quick shuffling of multiple pairs of feet and inhuman growls echoes down the hall at the sound of a distant ringtone. The noise brings back Jaemin’s nerves full force, even as Donghyuck snarkily criticizes Renjun’s ringtone and almost gets a swift knee to the dick.

Once Renjun decides by the lack of noise that they’re in the clear, he opens the door with a big sweeping motion, revealing an hallway nearly identical to the one they just came down from. The way Jaemin can tell it’s definitely the first floor is by looking at the rooms; insead of classrooms, the sections in the first floor are made entirely of offices and closets.

On the way to the door, Jaemin steps over several discarded personal belongings. Papers, water bottles, bags, a tube of split lip gloss. The hallway might have looked like an after-the-party-scene if it weren’t for the blood smeared all over the floor and walls. Jaemin tries not to look at all the red and instead focuses his attention on the ceiling, only to find a spatter of red across the beige surface too. Jaemin forgets he’s mad at Donghyuck and reaches for his hand again.

They walk quickly, passing billboards posted with various club flyers and closed doors adorning engraved plates of different room numbers and names. Jaemin stops when he sees a door with the label ‘Infirmary,’ but then hurries to catch up with Renjun as Donghyuck pinches him impatiently from behind. It’s weird seeing the uni hallways almost the same they have been, but breathing an air that is entirely different from usual at the same time. The air is heavy with an ominous feeling Jaemin can’t describe, but he chokes on it the entire way through.  

It seems like the door is so far away, and Jaemin focuses on the tan door at the end with a ringing noise taking root in his ears. After what seems like years they finally reach the end of the hallway without any mishaps, the bright green exit sign sitting at the top glittering enticingly. When they reach the end, it’s almost like a weight is immediately lifted off of Jaemin’s shoulders. He breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Thank the gods,” Donghyuck moans from beside him, his voice tight. Renjun looks at him and raises a fist silently, so Donghyuck drops his voice down to a few more decibels to add, “That was intense. I actually thought I was going to die.”

Having nothing smarter to say, Jaemin agrees. “Same.” The feeling of walking down that hallway is hard for Jaemin to explain; he honestly doesn’t remember much of it except for a numbness taking over his brain.

“Did I ask?”

“Technically I didn’t ask either.” Jaemin pouts and turns to face his friend, pretending to be hurt by Donghyuck’s words. Donghyuck remains unaffected by the sight(maybe it’s because he is the king of puppy eyes and snakery himself). If anything he looks disgusted, which wounds Jaemin even more.

Donghyuck suddenly offers out an opened bag of Skittles. Jaemin stares at it for a few seconds, remembering seeing a line of those in the vending machine in the staff lounge room.

“Why, Hyuck.”

“I eat when I’m stressed. Old fucking news,” he supplies, popping one into his mouth. “God, these taste like shit. Who even made Tropical Skittles?”

Jaemin continues staring at Donghyuck with a blank expression, which, evidently, is a very bad decision. Jaemin walks right into Renjun, bouncing backwards from the impact with a soft noise of surprise. He prepares himself for a fist to his face, but for some reason, the boy doesn’t snap at Jaemin for running into him. Thankfully, Donghyuck chooses the right time to not be an idiot and side steps out of the way before they can domino effect to the floor. However, he doesn’t help Jaemin and instead watches him totter clumsily with a smug expression on his foxy face. Wow. What a salty asshole. The smug look slowly melts into one of horror as he stares at something behind Jaemin.

“Shit, sorry Renjun. What’s wr-” he turns around, but then stops abruptly. All of the air escapes from his lungs.

A horizon away from where they stand the sun descends to sleep, light crawling up from above the campus buildings. The fading light drapes a monochrome blue over the tens and tens of warm bodies crowded against each other, all swaying in unison like grass in the wind. Jaemin counts the pairs of legs, but then loses count after the twelfth one.

_There’s so many of them._

Well of course everyone and their damn mother chose this one door to go into, huh? A quick sweep of the perimeter reveals that a fenced off area as small as this one must have been hard for this many people to get out of once they were trapped in. Like a bunch of animals waiting to die.  

An evil voice in the back of his head whispers, _that’s going to be you._

It’s peacefully quiet outside, but then the door slams against the wall loudly as it swings open, ruining the delicate silence. Renjun swears under his breath from in front of Jaemin, his shoulders trembling.

As if roused from sleep, the closest body stirs. They turn their head with a muffled _snap, snap_ of weary bones, and Jaemin can see the muscles in their neck straining to keep up with the movement. Jaemin feels the life in him drain away by the year as pairs of cloudy eyes turn to peer drowsily at them, one after another.

“Holy shit,” Donghyuck says.

Everything goes blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhm, i did mention that a lot of people would die, right? anyways, thank you so much for reading!! note, i made a [twitter](https://twitter.com/ssauerkraaut) and a [curiouscat ](https://curiouscat.me/seungyeehaws)if you feel like checking them out, though there's nothing there lmao. 
> 
> have a lovely day!!! c:


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